


Crescendo

by CatherineParker



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Femslash, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Pre-Canon, Shenzhou Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineParker/pseuds/CatherineParker
Summary: On a night out with her senior staff of the Shenzhou, Philippa Georgiou has to realize that some things are inevitable.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Philippa Georgiou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying to get back to writing.

Typically, everything about an evening like this would be just utterly tiresome. Philippa Georgiou can’t scarcely calculate the numerous times she has spent at some Starfleet Gala or the other. One of many occasions where the brass meets merely to show off. More often than not, it’s an entirely boring, yes, wasted evening she could be spending with a glass of wine in her quarters instead and devour one of the books that do nothing but gather dust on her shelves.

But then something about this particular night feels altogether different. Only slightly in the beginning, enough to make her skin prickle just so that it feels momentous and much too heavy to ignore. It all starts with the look her first officer gives her once they beam down.

* * *

Being last to arrive in the transporter room wasn’t something she enjoyed much. It had only happened rarely in the decades she’d come there to greet diplomats, Admirals or new, unknown species. Embarked on away missions or said her goodbyes to loved ones.

But this time she hadn’t quite managed to be on time, the zipper of the shimmering, silver dress she had chosen to wear for the evening had been unforgivably resistant, much to her grievance, so she had in fact arrived last.

But then her late arrival - or rather the attention her skin tight attire had gathered had been more than satisfactory, if the slightest open-mouthed stares of her senior staff were any indication. A significant amount of silence had enveloped the room the moment she entered and despite herself she couldn’t quite hide her sincere amusement.

With a click of his tongue Commander Saru had first of all others come back to his senses. “Captain.” He had greeted with a curt incline of his head.

“Sorry I am late.” She had stated, barely suppressing the rising smile at the looks the rest of her staff were still giving her. To their credit, the dress wasn’t exactly modest, closing high around her neck, leaving her arms and shoulders bare - as well as most of her back. But then she didn’t see any use in attending any of those events, if she wasn’t even allowed to have a little fun, wasn’t allowed to dress up once in a decade and turn some heads as long as she still could. And by the looks of her senior staff alone - she could still pull it off.

“Captain.” Michael, who had opted for a formfitting black suit and white crisp button-up shirt underneath, held out a hand as she reached the few steps ascending to the transporter pad. She accepted the gesture gratefully, her leg flashing through the high slit at her right thigh as she took the few steps. Maybe the heels had been overly high, but then she was more than a little satisfied to see she was almost at her first officers eye level as she stood on the pad beside her.

She let go of Michael’s hand with a slight squeeze and turned to the transporter chief who grinned back at her.

“Energize.”

* * *

Hours in, chatting with numerous former colleagues and Admiral’s she found herself enjoying herself to her own surprise rather immensely. She had had her fill of flutes of champagne, not enough to be anywhere near drunk, just enough to be threading on the side of tipsy. There were only so many occasions where she could let loose and enjoy herself, especially being in command of the Shenzhou under the watchful eye of her crew. But tonight the ballroom was filled with hundreds of people, many much more important than herself. Despite being still in the public eye, being watched by a few eyes as she took her turns gliding over the floor in one dance after the other. Here she could fall under the veil of anonymity in a sea of high-ranking officers.

And the music - the music was transcendent. A live orchestra with the skill to bring the very air alive. The deep strokes of a cello, the violins filling the room with an otherworldly melody. She couldn’t possibly recall a time when a piece of music permeated her entire being the way it did this evening. How it flowed through her body, excited every cell and combined with the dancers forged a unit of movements and sound of perfection.

* * *

The hours pass, and she dances again, this time with a balding Admiral she has known for years. He talks her ear off, and she doesn’t have it in her to excuse herself just yet. The music is gentle and languid and even if he is not the most interesting of conversationalists, he is quite an avid dancer.

“May I cut in?” The familiar voice comes from behind her and Philippa doesn’t need to turn around to recognize to whom the voice belongs to. The Admiral gives up without a fight and only a small, yet slightly disappointed smile.

Michael assumes his place before he can think better of it, standing before Philippa with dark eyes and bows her head slightly.

She can’t quell her rising excitement at the change of dancing partners and as her first officer takes her hand in her own, cool and dry to her touch, the soft music of the orchestra fades out around them.

There is a moment of eternal silence, the entire ballroom full of people collectively caught in between breaths and then the music starts up again with a vengeance. With a steady hand on the small of her back, Michael pulls her close enough that their bodies are touching, and she reverently hopes the loud music covers the gasp she emits as they connect.

Her first officer’s grasp is firm, and she leads Philippa steady and with confident steps across the dance floor.

“I never knew you were so proficient at dancing, Number One.” She says and Michael makes her spin out only to pull her even closer a moment later.

“You never provided me with an occasion to prove myself to you, Captain.” Michael responds, the fingers on her back sliding farther up, where the dress exposes the vast skin of her back, and she can’t hide her shiver.

They are dangerously close to something not spoken of in several years, only felt lurking beneath the surface of countless private interactions.

She can feel how she looses herself in Michael’s touch, how she craves it to be more insistent — and at the same time be less — _nonexistent even_ , as soft fingertips dance over her skin in an agonizing caress.

“You have proved yourself many times.” Philippa manages to say, her voice low and barely above a whisper, and she curses herself for it, as Michael only pulls her in even closer, their bodies now pressing tight against each other, and she can feel every muscle of Michael’s body move in sync with her own.

The music picks up again, rising to an inescapable crescendo and Philippa feels every atom of her very being singing in divine ecstasy.

Michael’s eyes are dark and searching and Philippa - despite herself meets her stare head on. Without her permission, her hand moves up Michael’s shoulder and curls around her neck. The sharp intake of breath as her fingers slide up into dark hair almost undoes her.

The hand on her back is firmer now, fingers burrowing hard against her skin, and she moans, her eyelids flutter, but the sound is swallowed by a deep, drawn out stroke of the cello.

The next thing she knows, she is in a barely lightened corridor somewhere, far away from prying eyes. The music is still playing, somewhat muffled but still loud enough to drown out any chatter. Michael is still close, a hand against her cheek, finger tracing the contours of her bottom lip and Philippa knows this is her last chance to pull the ripcord and stop whatever they are tumbling towards at high warp.

But then her lips part, and her tongue darts out to lick the pad of Michael’s thumb. For a moment her first officer looks starstruck. Unable to reason with herself that this thing between them is really happening. A heartbeat later Michael's mouth is urgent and demanding on her own.

In the ballroom the music rises, builds up, and Philippa’s hand gets lost in short hair. Her tongue slides over soft lips and Michael makes a sound that could be a moan, her body pressing Philippa’s bare back against the cold metal bulkhead.

There is something inevitable between them. She knew it from the first day they met. But when Michael’s thigh presses hard against her, mouth hot and her tongue licking into her mouth, Philippa realizes, it was a futile attempt to ever even try and ignore it.


End file.
